


To Trust, To Believe

by LiamNeesonNightmare



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Allusions to Child Abuse, Fluff, M/M, My first ever fic on AO3, One Shot, The bad stuff happens later, This is good stuff, What an occassion, way too many commas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 15:56:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10539729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiamNeesonNightmare/pseuds/LiamNeesonNightmare
Summary: Not many people know this, but the first time Credence Barebone meets Percival Graves, he is the actual Percival Graves. Still alive. Still whole. Still filled with light.





	

**Author's Note:**

> for my good buddy Sheax who requested it, here is your bad egg friend. 
> 
> I sincerely apologize for all the comas. Also if there's any Britishisms in here that don't make much sense pls tell me, it's hard to write Colin Farrell without making him sound Irish since that's how I know him best. Also I myself am an Irish so I will absolutely slip some in there without realizing soz.

Not many people know this, but the first time Credence Barebone meets Percival Graves, he is the actual Percival Graves.  
Still alive. Still whole. Still filled with light.

Mary-Lou Barebone catches the attention of every wizard and witch that goes anywhere near her. They feel unnerved by her, creeped out, bad feelings run like the ghost of a curse over the skin, drawing goosebumps to the surface, speaking to some inborn ancient sense of self-preservation. 

“Beware, there is dark magic here.”

Percival Graves is the first to realise that that sickly-wrong feeling is coming not from her, but from one of her adopted children. He suspects the youngest, Modesty, but it’s the boy who catches his eye. How he stoops, hunched in the background of his mother’s presence, making himself smaller, so small people will just look past him. Graves, as a seasoned Auror, is always interested in those who try to make themselves invisible.

One Thursday afternoon in September, when summer still lingers around every corner, Credence, tasked with handing out flyers, has dutifully been walking around the streets for hours. Graves watches, following slowly behind, trying to learn all he can from afar. After being snubbed by yet another stranger, Credence takes a turn off the street proper. The sun is still shining, and the light has filled up a courtyard behind some government buildings that are open to the public. He would be thrown out if they knew he was handing out leaflets, so he tucks the last of them into his coat and sits on the stone edge of a small, plain water fountain. Graves watches as he rests his hands in between his legs and slowly straightens his back, raising his face towards the sun. He closes his eyes and seems to still, entirely. Lit up like this he becomes another person, another creature entirely. Something pure and unburdened. Something beautiful.

Graves isn’t sure how long he spends standing there, watching, but the sun is setting, and his time will run out soon. He finally makes his move towards the fountain, footsteps echoing quietly off the stone. 

When he sits down beside the boy, the worst happens. Credence cringes and folds over, like he’s been struck, he becomes smaller again, and the sun no longer reaches his face.

Graves misses the light already.

Up close it’s obvious that the boy is older than Graves had assumed, than anyone else would either, with the way he clings to mothers coattails. He’s bigger too, in the body, taller than his too-small clothing and stooped posture would suggest. At full height, standing tall, he would have a few inches on Graves, though he doesn’t seem to realise this. The idea makes him feel warm inside. Maybe this frightened creature isn’t as fragile as he looks at first sight.

His face is sallow, sunken, all harsh lines and points. The only softness lies in his mouth, his lips which clench tight with discomfort. His mouth which Graves must pull his eyes from, aware that he’s staring. 

“Hello.” Graves smiles for him, hoping Credence can see it out of the corner of his eye. He tries to keep it as friendly as possible, as soft and gentle as he can manage. Something tells Graves this boy isn’t used to either soft or gentle, and like an injured bird requires careful handling. 

Credence nods in his direction. It’s a start. 

“It’s a nice day, isn’t it? Almost too nice for this time of year. Seems like a shame to be sitting inside, doing paperwork, so I thought I’d come and have a sit down outside. Is that alright?”

Credence nods again, turning towards him slightly. His eyes are wide and anxious.

“Who… who are you?” The first words Credence speaks are full of rust and dust; he licks his lips to fight off the dryness. 

“My name is Percival Graves. I’m a policeman, of sorts. And you, dear lad, are Credence Barebone.”

At this Credence looks up sharply, makes shocked eye contact for a brief second, and then looks down again.

“You know me?”

“Yes sir, I know you. And I know your mother. Now don’t worry, don’t worry, you aren’t in any trouble kid. I just came here to talk. To talk, and to take in a little sunshine.” Graves smiles again, nudges the air beside him as if nudging Credence’s shoulder, only for him to cringe away anyway.

He breathes out, tries to remind himself why he’s here, making this already uncomfortable boy even more uncomfortable. He tells himself he’s doing this for practical reasons. Having the trust of Mary-Lou’s eldest would be a valuable asset when it came to investigating her and her crowd. He tells himself it’s the professional thing to do; any other Auror would make the same decision. The kid is abused, easily influenced, weak to outside suggestions. He is absolutely not sitting with Credence Barebone because of the way he looked up at him through his eyelashes. Trusting and hopeful, with an innocence that shouldn’t still exist. 

“It’s getting late, Mr. Graves, I should get back to the...”

“To the church. Yes, I’m sure you do. But I’m also sure that you’re a good person, and you’d want to help an officer of the law, yeah?” Credence licks his lips, goes to speak, closes his mouth again, but makes no move to stand. 

“Just sit with me Credence. Sit with me, talk to me until…until the light hits that archway.”

He leans in to point at the archway opposite them where the sun is slowly sliding down the wall, and is heartened by the fact that Credence doesn’t cringe this time. Instead he looks from the archway, to Graves’ finger, to Graves’ face. It’s the first time they’ve made solid eye contact and Graves finds himself frozen. His gaze is solid, searing, nothing like the meek and docile stare he’d first anticipated. There was strength and something very… real, in there.

Oh. 

Oh right. 

“Just until then?”

Finally Credence looks away and Graves can breathe again.

“Yeah, yeah. Just until then.”

He’s an Auror, and a good one at that, he notices things. He noticed that Credence’s posture would slacken when a stranger smiled at him, took his flyer without scorn. He noticed how the boy would stop sometimes at certain shop fronts: candy shops, bakeries, book stores. He makes sure not to notice how smooth Credence’s skin looks. That way leads to disaster, and here, he has to be professional. 

“What did you want to talk about, Mr. Graves?”

Graves blew out a breath, leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees. 

“A lot of things, Credence, I wanna talk about a lot of things. You’re an interesting lad, and I’m... curious. But for now, I want to talk about faith.”

“F-faith, Mr. Graves?”

“Faith, Credence.”

“Where you, ah, did you want to, um, were you…were you thinking of joining the church, Mr. Graves?” 

“Ah.” It’s harder to say no to the quiet but sincere earnestness in that question than he thought, but still. Not that hard. “No, no Credence lad, not really.”

“Oh.”

They’re silent for a moment. Credence starts fidgeting, twisting his long fingers together in his lap. Graves waits him out. In the distance you can hear the hustle and bustle of New York, an immortal frantic creature, loud and overwhelming. But in the courtyard the air is still, the sounds are muted, the light stays gentle and soft. 

“So what, what do you want to know, about faith, I mean?” Credence shifts, twists his head towards Graves to give the appearance of attention without having to look at him. Graves is strangely relieved. Those eyes are too much for a normal man. 

“‘Credence, from the Latin credere meaning to trust, to believe’. Tell me, Credence, do you believe in magic?”

Almost immediately Credence forces his head away, looking at the right wall of the courtyard, and brings his shoulders up to meet his ears. His knuckles go bone white as he clenches his hands together.

“Magic is evil, Mr Graves. It leads you down a dark path away from righteousness…”

“Please, kid, I’ve heard your mother’s toxic rhetoric one too many times. You believe it, then? That people can do great and powerful things just by speaking a few words?”

Credence becomes even more agitated, words coming out in rapid fire pace. “Not people, no, witches, with bad wrong evil souls, who only wish to harm and hurt innocent people and, and children, and…”

“Seems to me, Credence, that you don’t need to be a witch to want to hurt children.” He speaks quietly but with enough force that Credence immediately stops talking and shuts off. His whole body turns to stone, his lips clench and his eyes….Merlin. Graves regrets opening his damn mouth. Without realizing it he’s already apologizing.

“Hey stop I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have spoken about something I know nothing about, I’m sorry.” He wants to reach out and touch but everything about the younger man’s body language says that would be an even worse idea than accusing the boy’s mother. 

“I was just trying to say that… I believe that any kind of power, magic or not, can be used for evil or used for good. It’s all about who wields that power. Some people, Credence, are more inclined to do bad things, to harm others, and they’ll do it no matter what they have at hand. They can do it with magic, they can do it with guns, and they can even do it with words.” Graves doesn’t need to try this time to keep his voice gentle, and Credence listens on intently, as if captivated. “Whereas others, better people, will work with what they have to help people. To build things, to create. And with magic, these things just become much easier."

He stretches out his hand, holds his breath, and takes a chance. Slowly, so as not to startle, he thinks about Credence’s face in the sun, and lets a small golden flower bloom in his bare hand. He hears a sharp gasp to his right and for a second is too afraid to look. Has he played his hand too soon? Will he see disgust, fear, hatred? But he didn’t get this far in his career by being a coward, so he looks up. And what he sees is pure wonderment.

He edges his hand towards Credence, offering him something he can’t express. Shocked but pleased, he watches as Credence reaches his own hand toward his. He’s transfixed by the flower, which is growing brighter the longer Graves stares at him. 

Gently and with great care, Credence plucks the flower out of Graves’ hand, his little finger trailing skin, sending shivers down his spine. Holding this still glowing bloom Credence sits with his mouth slightly open, leaning entirely into the Auror’s space, so close he can feel the heat rolling off him. Graves has to shake himself a bit, determined to continue speaking in an even tone.

“Magic isn’t bad, kid. It’s like strength, or intelligence, or any other kind of power. Good or bad, it only becomes what you make it.”

The flower brightens in Credence’s fingers, until it bursts into wisps and sparks of light. Caught off guard Credence laughs, one small huff of childlike joy and a smile that puts Graves’s simple flower to shame. It’s unselfconscious and crooked, unpracticed and, again, beautiful. Graves tries to remember how to breathe.

Once the last spark has dissipated Credence becomes suddenly aware of where he is, what he’s doing. He looks first up Graves, his smile slipping to dismay, to that fear the Auror was so wary of seeing earlier. He flinches violently back and starts to stand.

He could have made this, this sweet strange encounter, last a little longer. Cast an illusion, freeze the light in its tracks, or plant a suggestion in Credence’s mind. It would be simple, easy, he wouldn’t even need to touch his wand. But he’d made himself another vow, one more vow to add to the too many he’d made already, when he saw Credence’s reaction to his flower. He’d never force Credence to do anything, not to give him information, not to sell out his mother, not even to stay in this small courtyard one moment longer than he’d promised. 

So he didn’t.

And the sun reaches the archway.

“Time to go home then, I guess.”

Credence says nothing, simply stands and walks, first in one direction then another, seemingly unsure of where to go or what to do. 

“Credence.”

Credence stops. Graves stands and approaches him slowly.

“Credence.” He says, softer. 

“Would it be alright if I came to see you again?”

“I….”

“I can help. I promise.”

He wants to take another chance, another risk. This one is born less from professionalism and more from the feeling in his chest as he watches Credence sway towards him, like despite himself he can’t resist some form of human contact. 

He takes the risk. Raising his hand up slowly he cups the young man’s face, fingers resting softly on his jaw. Like he’s something precious, something worthy of saving. Just for a moment Credence closes his eyes, tilts his chin up, into the sun. 

Graves, selfish though he tries to be better, makes one small swipe with his thumb along Credence’s cheek. “You have good in you Credence. If you believe nothing else, believe in that.”

Once more Credence opens his eyes and Graves is caught, with the wind knocked out of him, heart beating frantically, by that gaze. Not an injured bird, but a sleeping dragon.

Oh.

He can do nothing else but stand still as Credence hurries away, hunched over and small, and watch as he gets swallowed up by the crowd. He laughs, smiling like a pixie, and ruffles the hair on the back of his head. He knows he’s going to have to talk to Credence again, get some actual words out of him, but for now he’s content.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry there was no hug Sheax, but there was a face touch!! Hope you liked it anyways. 
> 
> Thank you for reading my first ever fic posted for public consumption you are all very nice people and I hope you enjoyed it a bit. 
> 
> Also thank you to lindt_barton for cheering me through this, you're a real pal and I love you.


End file.
